


Polish Secrets

by bluetears07



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Locker Room, M/M, Secret Conversations in Polish, Secret Relationship, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>German locker room after the match against Azerbaijan. Miro just wants to get laid, Lukas likes to tease, Bastian can't stand secret conversations in Polish and Philipp takes charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Recipes

The boys pour into the locker room, pulling off their kits as epinephrine and hot blood courses through their veins. Everyone is chatting and laughing as they strip down, some head straight for the showers while others absorb the moment for just a little bit longer. A 6-1 victory feels pretty nice, granted it was against Azerbaijan, but nonetheless with only a few matches to qualify every goal counts. Müller is practically vibrating with excitement as he blazes past Lukas in order to pounce on Holger as they are the last to enter the room. Lukas plunks down onto the long bench beside Bastian. He glances over and follows his best friend’s gaze to the opposite side of the room. They both watch quietly as Philipp makes a beeline for the team trainer, weaving between much taller sweaty bodies—probably going to ask about Per.

“What’s up, Basti?” Lukas nudges him in the side as he looks over with a wide, knowing grin. Immediately, Bastian’s eyes flick away from Philipp and up to see the smirk on Lukas’ face. The midfielder folds in on himself, back curving as elbows press against his thighs. A faint flush creeps up the back of his neck and Lukas barely bites back a laugh—it’s a rare sight to see Bastian blushing these days.

“Same old, same old.” He runs a hand down the side of his face before anxiously tearing at the athletic tape wrapped around his wrists. The tape falls to the floor between his feet, curled and sweaty.

“Ok, Basti, it’s been months.” Lukas sighs, slinging an arm around Bastian’s shoulders and pulling him close. He gives his friend a squeeze before slouching back against the frame of his locker. “We talked about this on the bus. Just go ask him to dinner or something.” Palm flat, Lukas thumps Bastian on the wide expanse of his naked back. It echoes throughout the room and Philipp glances over at the two. The man rolls his eyes but a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Bastian ducks his head down as his face heats up once more. “You know, be casual,” Lukas continues, voice trailing off as his bright eyes become fixed upon the doorway to the showers.

“Lukas, he just got married.” Bastian stares at Lukas as if he’s suddenly gone crazy, speaking in a frantic, hushed whisper.

“So.” Lukas shrugs distractedly as his focus is instantly drawn to the low-slung towel wrapped around the narrow hips of a dripping wet Miroslav. The older man strolls in from the showers, walking over to his locker directly across from the infamous duo. Lukas lifts his chin, nodding toward Miroslav as he slips into Polish. “ _You coming over tonight_?” He keeps his voice even, speaking as if he’s asking Miroslav about how well he thought they worked together on the pitch.

“ _Who’s topping_?” Miroslav calls back as he searches through his track bag for a clean pair of boxer briefs. Lukas can’t stop the grin from growing wider; his partner never misses a beat. After a few seconds, Miroslav finds his underwear and starts to slip them on beneath his towel.

“ _Don’t_.” Miroslav drops the garment and without pause stuffs it back into the bag before fishing out his warm ups. Following Lukas instructions, he pulls them on instead. _“You’re on my field now, Mirek_.” Lukas keeps his voice nonchalant, only edged out along the rim with aggressive suggestions that causes Miroslav to stand a bit straighter and he towel dries his hair. Bastian stares at his friend; his face is the picture of complete and utter perplexity.

“You guys can stop anytime now.” He gently shoves Lukas in the side as he starts to toe off his boots. Anxious, Bastian checks to see if Philipp has finished speaking with the trainer. The two are still deep in conversation and Bastian does not care for the deep crease between Philipp’s brows. He’s been waiting so patiently for their captain to start undressing beside him. “I’m sure trash talking everyone else can happen later.” It was all planned out on the bus with Lukas’ help, the best way to ensure that his locker was alongside Philipp’s—but now it was doing him no good.

“Sorry Bastian.” Miroslav glances over his shoulder from under the towel with a small conciliatory smile before answering Lukas in Polish once again. “ _True, but I’ve already scored twice on it tonight. I win._ ” The towel hangs around Miroslav’s neck as he angles his body toward his partner. Wide, deceptively innocent eyes lock with Lukas’. “ _I top_.” Bastian scoots away from his friend unsure what exactly is transpiring between the two men but knowing that he definitely does not want to get in the middle of it.

“ _You scored thanks to whose fine ass_?” Lukas counters, sliding forward to the edge of the bench—giving away his engagement in the conversation.

“ _Alright, Lukasz,_ ” Miroslav chuckles, hanging up his towel before turning around to face Lukas. Slipping on a clean undershirt, he continues speaking in that same light, easy tone. “ _But I expect a lot of personal attention first._ ” He grins and Lukas is sure the older man never had that particular facial expression in his repertoire before he came along to show him exactly how to grin like an idiot. Bastian sighs dramatically, frustrated in every way possible as Miroslav cross the room to stand in front of the two younger men. He grabs Lukas face in one hand, as if to chastise him. Lukas represses the shiver than runs up his spine, staring up intently at his partner. “ _Put that pretty mouth to good use._ ” Miroslav steps away, looking down at Bastian. “I told him to stop.”

“Thanks, Miro.” Bastian gives Miroslav a half smile while Lukas stands to be eye to eye with the older man. The midfielder remains seated, totally ignoring the tension between the two while he strips off his socks and shorts. He tosses the lot, grabbing Lukas’ socks as well, in to the centre of the room to be cleaned.

“Yeah, thanks Miro.” Playfully, Lukas shoves the older man in the chest, his thumb brushing over a nipple to tweak it.

“Little shit.” Miroslav cuffs him gently on the back of the head before turning back to finish changing.

Mesut and Sami return from the showers, attempting to speak to one another in a broken Spanish-German hybrid. They start changing side-by-side, trying to name every article of clothing in Spanish. Seeing their chance, Lukas and Bastian grab their towels and hurry to the showers.

“ _Can you stay the night_?” Lukas shouts to Miroslav over the spray of water.

“What do you guys even talk about that is so top secret?” Bastian muses aloud, wiping away a bit of soap that gets in his eyes.

“Secret Polish family recipes.” Lukas glances over with a wicked grin he knows Bastian will miss thanks to the stinging suds. Blindly, Bastian takes a swing at Lukas and ends up whacking him on the shoulder blade.

“ _If you give me a good reason._ ” Miroslav peers around the corner of the showers, he’s ready and waiting, fully dressed with arms folded over his chest. Impatient, Lukas shuts off his shower without rinsing all the soap from his hair and is suddenly face to face with Miroslav.

“ _I’ll give you several._ ” He pushes the older man down the short hallway back to the locker room in order to change.

“It’s quite frustrating, yeah?” Bastian nearly jumps out of his skin when Philipp is suddenly standing right beside him.

Naked.

Philipp.

Naked.

Philipp is naked and soapy. Philipp is naked and soapy and within reach. Bastian takes a deep breath, tries to mask it and focus on the words that are coming out of Philipp’s mouth.

“Remember all the hushed conversations at Bayern?” Naked and smiling, Philipp continues gesturing to the two strikers as they disappear down the short corridor. “I have no idea what they could possibly be talking about. I just hope they aren’t saying anything about us.” He laughs, turning to wash away the layer of soapsuds he’s built up on his shoulders and chest.

“Why?” Bastian’s back goes rigid with the possible scenarios in which Lukas might have said something to Philipp. Yes he asked his friend for help but specifically requested for him to not be that bluntly about the whole operation. “Why would they talk about us? What do you mean?” He instantly forgets how one should clean ones body and simply stands under the hot spray.

“I mean, why else would they be speaking in Polish unless they didn’t want us to know what they were saying.” Philipp finishes showering, grabbing his towel. “And the only reason they wouldn’t want us to know is if they are talking about us.” He waits for Bastian to finish, leaning against the cool tiled wall.

“Yeah,” Bastian replies slowly as he switches off his own shower.

“Maybe they’re Polish spies.” It’s a great moment when Philipp jokes with Bastian. He loves the man’s sense of humour and he instantly feels more at ease. The twisted knots of anxiety loosen as he remembers the way he used to act around Philipp, before he became attracted to him. They laugh together as they walk back into the busy locker room. It’s louder than before but all Bastian can hear is the discord of Polish issuing forth from Lukas’ mouth as the striker pulls on a T-shirt.

“ _Can we fuck in the shower sometime_?” Lukas glances down at Miroslav seated on the bench.

“ _We do that all the time._ ” A funny expression crosses Miroslav’s face as Bastian starts pulling on his warm ups. He glances over at Philipp who rolls his eyes but simply shrugs, giving up on the pair.

“ _No, I mean in the showers after a match._ ” The young man worries his lower lip as he jams the rest of his stuff into his duffle bag. “ _Like in a bad porno_.”

“ _I wish I could kiss you right now._ ” Miroslav’s voice is low and twisted with all too apparent sadness. He stares down at his hands folded together in his lap. A gentle hand from Lukas runs through Miroslav’s wet hair, messing it up into a faux hawk.

“ _Same_.” It’s a single word but a rough one that Bastian will never know the full meaning of even if he remembers to look it up online. Lukas swings the heavy bag over his shoulder. “ _Re-_ ”

“Oh my god.” Bastian throws up his hands effectively cutting Lukas off before he can continue. “Really? Still?” He fumbles with the zipper of his hoodie, yanking it all the way up in jerky, anxious movements. Lukas gives him a sheepish look, tugging at Miroslav’s collar, silently requesting the man to stand up.

“Come on.” Philipp is beside him, touching the small of Bastian’s back, guiding him toward the exit. “Let’s get dinner while they continue eye-fucking each other.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Bastian replies, shouldering his bag and rewinding the dark scarf around his neck.


	2. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miro will get laid, Lukas still likes to tease, Bastian is totally helpless and Philipp will always take charge.

Miroslav loves the smell of Lukas’ flat in Cologne—it’s the closest he’s felt to home in twenty years. Not to mention that it smells infinitely better than the place Lukas had in Munich, always so cold and unsettling, like wet concrete. Maybe it’s the new perfume Monika wears, the one Miroslav bought her as a peace offering the last time he was in Cologne.

Lukas brings Miroslav back to the moment, laughing and shoving him playfully on to his mattress. With a brilliant grin, Lukas quickly pounces to straddle the older man’s hips while making quick work of Miroslav’s jacket and shirt before sliding downwards. The young man is silenced when Miroslav hooks a couple fingers around the back of his neck, dragging him down for a slow, searching kiss. Lukas begins moaning softly in the back of his throat as his partner starts massaging the tense muscles along his stiff shoulders. Busy hands stop their slow descent beneath the fabric of Miroslav’s track pants. After a few more languid kisses, tongue sliding along teeth and gums, Lukas pulls away. Lips flush, blue eyes bright with lust, he starts to move down the length of Miroslav’s body.

“Why was Bastian so agitated?” Miroslav shifts his shoulders, propping himself up on his elbows as Lukas nips along his collarbone. Arching up into the touch, he rubs his hand over the short, bristly hair at the crown of Lukas’ head.

“Fips.” Lukas glances up from Miroslav’s chest where the flat of his tongue envelops a nipple.

“Still?” Miroslav’s eyes slide shut, head tipped back as a long-suffering sigh slips past his thin lips.

“Yeah,” Lukas says as Miroslav blindly pulls at the younger man’s zip up, dragging it over his head and down his arms before tossing it off the bed into a dark corner of Lukas’ bedroom. “But don’t say anything.” Hair ruffled, Lukas stares up at Miroslav with a surprisingly serious expression. Miroslav raises an eyebrow as he reaches out to smooth down Lukas’ hair. “I wasn’t supposed to tell.” His words are all jumbled together as he ducks down to mouth Miroslav’s half hard cock through slick black fabric. With a startled groan, Miroslav’s arms give out and he collapses back onto the bed. Curling his fingers along the waistband, Lukas begins to tug gently as Miroslav wiggles his narrow hips out of the warm ups.

“Our little secret.”

Just as Lukas starts really hitting his stride, lips slick, dick hard and tongue loose, the sound of Cheryl Cole’s Fight for this Love sends his mobile buzzing off the near by nightstand. Cursing under his breath in Polish, Miroslav flings an arm out but only manages to thump the nightstand repeatedly in vain as he fumbles for the fallen phone. Cheeks hollowed around Miroslav’s cock, Lukas waits for the ringing to stop.

The person calls back straight away.

Whatever it is, it must be urgent. At least it better be fucking urgent.

Lukas rolls off the bed, scrambling for his mobile.

“Fuck, it’s Basti,” he pants, giving Miroslav an apologetic grimace when he resurfaces, climbing back to his previous position—straddling Miroslav’s narrow hips, now naked and enticing to touch. Lukas presses a brief kiss against his partner’s unresponsive mouth before answering the call.

“Hello?” Bastian’s small voice comes over the receiver, filling the space between Lukas and Miroslav. “Lukas, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lukas clutches his mobile to his ear. “What is it?” Miroslav folds his arms over his chest, watching with a painfully bored expression. He waits for Lukas to either roll his eyes or pry his arms open to lay his head against his chest. Usually it’s the latter after a victory, especially when they’ve both scored for Germany. This time, the younger man simply stares down at him, enjoying the rare view of a petulant Miroslav Klose. Lukas figures the man must be picking up cues from his kids cause he’s sure he has seen that same face before multiple times in miniature. The thought makes a daft smile spread across his face, which in turn only makes Miroslav give a tiny huff of exasperation.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Bastian suddenly sounds like his face is about four shades pinker.

“Kind of.” Lukas gaze wonders over the flushed skin of Miroslav’s chest. He runs his fingers along the man’s sternum. Miroslav catches his wrist and pulls the hand to his mouth. With a wicked grin, Lukas’ index finger is slowly engulfed in a wet, soft warmth. A short whimper escapes him as he watches Miroslav intently.

“Oh, sorry,” Bastian stumbles over his apology, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He sounds painfully awkward, intentionally ignoring the various telltale sounds of his best friend caught in a tantalizingly compromising situation. “Uh, say hi to Monika for me,” is the best response he can come up with that will keep Lukas on the line a little bit longer.

“Basti says hi, my darling.” Lukas gives Miroslav a teasing look, his voice sugary sweet as he leans down to rub the tip of his nose against Miroslav’s. The older man smacks him gently on the upper arm, eliciting a momentary pout from his striker partner. “So, what is _so_ important?” Lukas switches Bastian to speakerphone and places the mobile on the bed just above Miroslav’s head. Leaning in close once more, with a finger against Miroslav’s lips, Lukas starts tracing the sensitive outer rim of his ear with the tip of his tongue as he listens to Bastian.

“I’m at the hotel restaurant with Philipp.” Bastian begins explaining calmly as Lukas tries to ignore the fact that Miroslav’s more than capable warm hands have slipped beneath the waistband of his track pants. In retaliation, he moves to lick and nip along the patch of skin where jaw and neck meet, one of Miroslav’s notorious erogenous zones. He has to firmly clamp a hand over his partner’s mouth to muffle his moans. “We’ve had a really nice time just chatting and everything but I don’t have a fucking clue what I should do now,” he’s frantic and whispering too loudly into the receiver. His voice comes out distorted and nearly incomprehensible.

“Get him upstairs,” Lukas begins, pulling away from Miroslav’s throat to direct his attention toward his mobile. His hips slowly rock forward and he presses himself against Miroslav’s hand. “And fuck his brains out.” Miroslav smacks Lukas’ now naked ass with his free hand, giving his partner a disapproving look.

“What?!” Bastian sounds as bewildered as Miroslav looks.

“Ask if he wants a nightcap?” Lukas tries again but it comes out more like a question than a recommendation. Lukas looks back to Miroslav for help. He pulls Lukas close to whisper in Polish.

“ _Just tell him to let Philipp take charge_.”

“Or better yet,” Lukas says loudly, “just let Philipp do everything.” He rewards Miroslav with a kiss, tongue sweeping along thin lips before dipping inside to run over slick teeth.

“But I don’t even know if he’s interested.” Lukas can’t stop his eyes from rolling and the exasperated sigh that spills out against Miroslav’s lips. Bastian sounds just as anxious as ever, as if he had made no progress at dinner. “You know, in that way.” His voice suddenly drops to barely audible. It’s rare that Bastian lacks confidence in his relationships with others and this world of insecurity is something totally foreign to the young man. Lukas untangles himself from Miroslav’s lithe limbs and grabs the phone. Taking it off speaker, Lukas presses the receiver tight against his ear.

“Basti.” His voice is clipped and direct. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At least he is still sure of one relationship.

“Go back to the table and see what Philipp does. If he doesn’t suggest anything then you should.” Lukas finally gives him a good piece of advice. It sounds simple enough, test the waters and then if they don’t ripple take a risk and jump in headfirst. Nothing was ever gained without taking a risk, right? “Okay?” Lukas asks after a few moments of silence from Bastian.

“Okay…” Bastian parrots back, halfhearted and still a bit petrified of the possibilities that stretch out before him only a few tables away.

“Put some feeling into it, Basti,” Lukas instructs him, voice low and demanding as he shakes his fist vigorously.

“ _Jesus, Lukasz_.” Miroslav rolls his eyes at his partner’s theatrics.

“Okay!” Bastian repeats with the same gusto he would on the football pitch.

“Okay.” Lukas’ tone matches his and he grins when he sees Miroslav covering his face and a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Good.” He runs a hand through Miroslav’s soft hair. “I’m gonna go have sex now, so don’t call for at least another fifteen minutes.” A hand darts out and smacks Lukas on the ass again. “Ouch! Fuck, M—”

The line goes dead and Bastian is suddenly left alone, his head buzzing with a thousand and one scenarios and a living, breathing Philipp waiting for him. The minute he arrives at their table, after spending several long minutes screwing up his courage, Philipp is already signing the check.

“We’re leaving, okay?” Bastian is stunned and only manages to make a breathy noise of concession and a stiff nod, which Philipp ignores. The young man blinks a few times as Philipp wraps a hand around the crook of his elbow, dragging him out of the restaurant and toward the elevators.

“Philipp?” Bastian finds his voice as he watches the shorter man standing calmly beside him. There is a short pause before the doors open and Philipp glances up at him with an open smile but no explanation. But the soft expression on Philipp’s face does the trick and a bit of the knotted anxiety in the pit of Bastian stomach dissipates. He feels calmer, verging on something, maybe closely related to confidence.

He can do this.

The feeling doesn’t last long.

As soon as the elevator doors close, Philipp catches his gaze in their reflection.

“Why don’t you trust my leadership abilities?” The carefree tone in his voice is a complete mismatch with his face. There is a serious challenge beneath the words, bizarrely confrontational.

“Philipp, y—” Bastian tries to laugh it off, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m being serious.”

“I do, Philipp, it’s just,” he pauses, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and leaning against the side of the elevator. He pauses to consider the question. In all honesty, Bastian had never thought about their relationship in terms of captain and vice captain. He was always too busy worrying about how well they played together while also keeping Philipp from knowing about his feelings. They had always been equals. “We’re peers.” It is the simple truth.

“So you think I don’t have any authority?” Philipp’s back is rigid, his posture strained and artificial—resentment radiating off him in thick waves.

“It’s not that.” Bastian tries quickly to explain. “Well,” Bastian pauses as the doors to the elevator open. He remains inside. “Perhaps not over me.” Philipp once again grabs Bastian by the crook of his elbow and pulls him down the long hotel hallway. “Relax, man,” Bastian says more to himself than Philipp. Once again, a myriad of scenarios play through his head in rapid succession. But none of them end with Philipp hastily shoving him inside his hotel room and kissing him soundless.

“Philipp?” It’s a quiet whisper. He’s worried if he is too loud it will shatter the moment, everything will all turn out to be a trick.

“We need to be on the same page here, Basti,” he says with hot breath against Bastian’s throat. Bastian has never loved the sound of his nickname more than in the dark of Philipp’s hotel room. A thrill runs up Bastian’s spine, spreading through his limbs and settling to buzz dully at the base of his skull. It’s a completely new feeling that threatens to overwhelm his senses and fry his nerve endings.

“Oh trust me,” he says with a grin, his confidence spiking back to normal. He throws off his shirt and blindly staggers backwards toward Philipp’s bed, lit by the moon pouring in from the nearby window. “I’m on the same page.” Philipp follows closely, fingers scrabbling for purchase on naked hipbones while they continue kissing. The sound of hot, open mouth kisses, little sucking and licking noises, fills Bastian’s ears. “I just didn’t know you had the same book as me.” Bastian pulls away with a breathy laugh.

“You’re talking too much.” Philipp says with an unexpected smile, shoving Bastian back onto the bed before quickly following.

“I’m sorry, Kapitän” Bastian murmurs against Philipp’s lips.


End file.
